


It Comes to This

by Winnychan



Category: TMNT (2007), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Breaking Up & Making Up, Character Study, Guilty Pleasures, Injury Recovery, M/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Pheromones, Secret Relationship, Sexuality Crisis, Tail Sex, Turtlecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 05:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15599145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnychan/pseuds/Winnychan
Summary: Donatello and Leonardo are trying to be patient and reasonable. Of course they want to do the safe thing, the smart thing, the right thing. It should come easy to these two especially, right?





	It Comes to This

  
“I can’t fix it, you know.”

Leo dropped his hand from his shoulder and glanced up to see the familiar form of his brother standing in his doorway, clearly recognizable even cloaked and softened as his figure was by shadow. The way he always stood, slightly hunched at the shoulders, gave the mistaken impression that he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, or that he lacked confidence, but Leonardo had come to the conclusion that it was just poor posture, developed during the long hours slouched in front of computers. And in spite of Donatello’s admonishing words, Leo felt soothed by the mere sight of him.

“If you don’t rest it, let it heal fully, and it tears… that’s it,” Don said quietly as he entered the room and walked softly toward Leo. “It’s not like I can just cut you open and repair a torn rotator cuff. You have to be more careful.”

The words were lecturing, but the tone was gentle, concerned. And Leo wasn’t at all surprised when Don halted behind his chair and wordlessly began to massage his left shoulder, continuing what he’d caught Leonardo doing when he stepped into the doorway. He pressed his strong thumbs into the deltoid and drew them along the taut muscle in a firm, practiced motion, loosening the tension to ease the pull on the damaged tendons of his shoulder. Leo held his breath, not giving voice to his discomfort; Don knew what he was doing. He’d done it often enough.

“Where’s Raph?” Leo managed when Don had at last moved to a different area of the shoulder.

“Went to work on his bike or something, I think. Probably listening to that satanic music of his—you know. To relax.”

Leo recognized his brother’s attempt at lightness, but he couldn’t muster a smile. “Mikey?”

“I just saw him playing video games.”

“You?” Leo asked. Don would know what he was asking—after the bloody battle they’d just fought, all of them needed an escape, a way to unwind. A way to deal with the killing, even when they knew it was unavoidable… and necessary.

“I tried getting into one of my computer games but… I heard you in the dojo.”

Leonardo was silent. His brother was using the flat of his palms now, gliding them all the way from the muscles of his shoulder down to his elbow. He was almost finished.

“You usually come in your room after we fight… clean your swords, polish them up,” Donatello pointed out in a matter-of-fact voice.

He knew. Don knew what this subtle variation in Leo’s routine was about, and he knew Leo knew he knew. But he wouldn’t ask. And somehow, knowing he wouldn’t made Leonardo more inclined to open up. Don’s hands had stilled by this point, but they were now resting softly on either shoulder as he waited. Leo sighed, and he settled a little lower in the angular chair.

“You saw it, then,” Leo said. It wasn’t a question.

His brother didn’t speak, but Leo felt the movement through his hands as he nodded his head in the affirmative.

“Scared the shit out of me,” Don admitted very quietly, and his hands tightened ever so slightly on Leo’s shoulders. “I was too far away—we were all too far away. I don’t even think the others saw, but…” Don’s voice faltered here, and all was quiet for several seconds except for the sound of his breathing. When he continued, his voice was uncharacteristically husky. “Don’t know what we’d do… what I’d do… if we lost you.”

Donatello wasn't one to exaggerate the facts. It had been a very close call. The fresh and terrible memory stole over him, transported him back there, pinned on his back, shell to the concrete. Once again his mouth flooded with the coppery taste of fear, just as it had staring into the face of an enemy and thinking he was about to be executed. It took Leonardo longer than he liked to rally himself and come up with an encouraging response.

"Got him, didn't I?" he said with a mustered smile.

"You certainly did," Don agreed soberly.

Leo gave a small flinch, sensitive to the fact that Don never used more violence in combat than was absolutely necessary. His weapon was ideal for knocking his opponents senseless. He didn't have to worry about accidentally...eviscerating anyone...

"Sorry," he apologized in a hush. "I didn't -- I wouldn't have--"

"You did what you had to do," the other turtle assured him earnestly. "It was the best option available to you. There is no shame in preserving your own life, Leo. Actually, I insist on it!" It was Don's turn to try a brave smile, but it came out just as crinkly-eyed and pathetic as his own attempt. "Just, come here," he grumbled, thumping one fist and the underside of his arm against Leo's plastron and giving him a fierce squeeze.

Leo tensed, then—just for a split second, but Don felt it and squeezed him even tighter. Leonardo relaxed and gave in to it wholly, exhaling with release as he leaned backward into his brother. The initial frigidity was an anomaly, a reflex born of old habit that sometimes resurfaced when Leo was stressed or preoccupied. The fact that he could relax with Donnie, let go of some of his self-possession, was one of things that had lead to such a… closeness between them. He was a balm to Leo, and a pillar of strength.

“I’m okay,” he said gruffly, and it was just as much a reminder to himself as a reassurance to Don. “It’s not like it’s anything new—for any of us.”

He felt his brother nod in agreement, his head tucked into the space between Leo’s neck and shoulder. But it spite of the acknowledgment of the near-constant dangers they faced, they clung together for a long moment without speaking before Don pulled back and straightened behind him.

“How’s your leg?” Leo asked, swiveling his head to peer at his brother.

Don’s eyes flicked down to his thigh briefly. “It’s fine. Abrasion, contusions... nothing that’ll slow me down. It’s superficial.”

Superficial… but extensive. Leo could see that much as he eyed the extent of raw flesh over Donatello’s quads. Looked like he’d been dragged over concrete. Yowch.

"You disinfected it, didn't you?" Leo voiced the concern without thinking about it, a purely visceral reaction to the wet shine of clotting blood and ragged folds of displaced dark green skin. It was absolutely the sort of question one must demand of Michelangelo -- and sometimes Raphael, if he were in a dark or reckless mood.

Donatello merely gave a patient smirk, as if to say just who do you think you are asking?

"Right," he said, bowing his head. He ticked a vague smile in the direction of his kneepads. "Of course you did."

"Have you ever known me to be reckless?" Don murmured.

"I can think of..." Leo's voice faltered, threatening to desert him altogether now that his brain had caught up with what he was about to say -- what he was about to imply. The ridge of his brow drew slightly and he forced himself to press on with only a hint of ongoing difficulty. "I can think of once or twice."

Don's expression went through several subtle changes, as did the quality of the air between them. The temperature of the room seemed to shoot up by several degrees and his ears seemed to ring in the silence. Clearly Don wasn't sure of himself -- he wasn't sure of the wisdom of what they had already done. Together they had come up with many sensible reasons not to continue experimenting.

But something had come unleashed inside of Leonardo. He could swear something was singing in the air between them. He had learned tonight and many times before that life was cruel and fleeting. He could have lost them. He could have lost everything. He surged forward on a wave of jangled instincts and this time the crushing hug was different.

This time it was a struggle to put weight above the other, a rocking give and take. Don's teeth were pulling on the skin of his neck when finally tore himself away, coming partly to his senses. "It's the adrenaline," he tried to explain. The apology in his voice was undermined by the fact that he was hard and gasping. "It's just the recent danger. What we’re both feeling, it isn't real!"

Leo thought these were pathetic excuses. His only answer was to growl and redouble his efforts.

He didn't back off until Don began to babble, "Plus, y'know, there's Mike! He’s playing X-Box right outside. Probably with one ear cocked, hoping one of us will take pity and join him..."

Leo studied his brother’s body language closely while he spoke, and forced himself to take a deep breath, the first step toward slowing his racing heart. Donatello wasn’t 100% comfortable with this—Leonardo had always known that. And truth be told, he wasn’t either, when he allowed himself to think about it too much. But he needed this tonight, needed the exertion, the release, the very thoughtlessness of it that in fact made it possible.

And he knew Don needed it, too.

But his brother was right—as exciting as it was, they weren’t exactly alone. And until they were, Don wasn’t going to be able to let go the way… well… the way Leo wanted him to. So he strove to put on an air of outward calm that would soften the urgency he felt within when he said, “So let’s get out of here.”

“Wh-what?” Donatello said.

“Out,” Leo repeated stolidly. “You and me. We’ll go topside, get some air. Unwind.”

Don’s eyes flicked to the door, then back to Leo. “But we just got home,” he said, and it would’ve sounded like a protest, except that Leo knew him too well. Donatello wanted to agree—but his brain was busy telling him the many reasons not to.

Leo knew how to fix that.

He rose from his chair and turned to face Don, regarding him steadily before stepping in close, occupying his personal space. Don held his ground, waiting, his breathing quick and shallow. If the air between them had been heated before, now it was positively crackling, heavy with tension, alive with potential… and Leo, breathing slowly to keep control of himself, calmly reached for his brother’s wrist. He felt Don shudder at the contact, and though he sensed he wouldn’t resist anything Leo did, the elder turtle merely firmed his grasp and lead Donatello toward the door.

“Leo?” Don said tentatively as they exited his room.

Leo said nothing, but continued leading him along. When they passed by Mikey in the den, he merely said, “Mike, Don and I are headed topside for a bit.” Definitely one perk about being leader: others tended not to ask you to explain every little thing you did.

Michelangelo, mere feet away from the TV and leaning forward in concentration, didn’t even pause in the rapid tapping of buttons as he called, “Hey, if you guys—”

“If we stop for pizza, we’ll bring you some,” Leo interrupted.

“Sweet,” Mike said without turning around.

They proceeded toward the lair's exit.

Leo, entirely too conscious of the clammy warmth of his brother’s skin where he held his wrist, could think of nothing but getting on the other side of that door.

Apparently Michelangelo had drawn his own conclusions about why Don was being dragged along by Leo on their way out the door. "Donnie's in trooouuuble," he could be heard crooning from the other room just as they were leaving.

"He certainly is," Don muttered under his breath, much too quietly for anyone but Leo to hear.

Leonardo's forward march pulled to a quick stop as soon as the heavy door was sealed behind them. "You don't have to come with me," he insisted. Bruised apology passed like a shadow across his face.

They stared at one another in the quiet, dripping darkness. Donatello's face worked helplessly as he tried and failed to speak.

He looked especially sweet right now, Leo couldn't help thinking, with a dark flush coloring his cheeks. Conflict was written so plainly in Don's flashing eyes, but desire lived there as well. Leonardo watched it quickening his breath. His stance was not defensive, quite the opposite. It was wide open, almost welcoming Leo to close the distance between them.

Once again the pressure seemed to build between the turtles and leash them together. Leo wasn't sure who moved towards the other first -- and that probably meant it was him. Their faces were buried in one another's necks in no time. There must be something to this pheromones business after all. It wasn't like either of them to lose their cool heads.

"I take it back," Leo growled with his mouth still touching the other turtle's skin. "I take it back. You have to come."

Don bit him in retaliation. Leo squirmed and grappled with the other turtle, but his attempts were purposefully ineffective. He wound up with Don pressed against him, pinning him to the wall. His battle-scarred shell scraped against the concrete. Leonardo felt between the other turtle's legs and seized the stump of his tail with one hand. The bold move earned a stifled grunt of surprise that melted into a low groan as Leo's grip slid over the sensitive skin.

He felt Don’s body tension change then—he was still pressed against Leo, hands braced against the wall on either side of him, but now seemed it was more an effort to keep himself upright than an attempt to dominate him. Leo growled again, low in his throat, and pulled his brother tighter to him with his free hand. Don leaned into him, head bowed helplessly into the hollow of his shoulder, his leg stance wide.

Leo grinned to himself, and then gentled his grip, feeling his own tail pulse with desire as he delicately stroked his brother. Donatello groaned again close to his ear, and then the groan changed to a rumble when Leonardo’s touches became even more ginger.

At first Don tried to press himself closer, grinding himself against Leo’s plastron and trying to thrust his tail deeper into his palm. When that didn’t elicit the response he desired, he gripped Leo’s shoulders and slammed his shell against the wall. “Keep… going, goddammit,” he panted.

“Gonna hafta… do better than that,” Leo answered huskily, and he shifted his stance and brought both hands up to the other turtle’s biceps, at the same time pivoting until it was Don pressed against the tunnel wall. "Ask me nicely." He teeth were once again raking his brother’s neck, when a rumbling noise from behind him filtered through haze of his ardor. It took his subconscious a moment to identify it, but when he did he snapped backward, and after a glance to confirm that the door to the lair was opening, he grabbed Don and began pulling him down the tunnel.

They didn’t get very far.

“What the hell’s goin’ on?” came Raphael’s voice, and Leo and Don both froze and turned toward him. At least they were mostly obscured by shadow.

When they didn’t answer, Raph took a few steps forward as the door was closing behind him.

“…Hey, Raph,” Leo said belatedly.

Raph squinted and looked between them, clearly wary. “What’re you guys doin’ out here?”

“We were just… headed topside,” Don spoke up, but he still hadn’t fully caught his breath, and Leo was sure Raph had to’ve heard it.

The turtle in red didn’t answer right away. Then he said slowly, “Great. I’ll head up with ya. Need to borrow Casey’s carb tuner.”

Leo felt Don glance at him, but he didn’t return the look. Instead he just gave a careless shrug. “Sure.” He turned as if to head towards the manhole, and after a moment’s hesitation, Don and Raph did the same and fell into step with him. The sudden interruption had cooled him as effectively as ice water thrown in his face, but the frustration and pent up energy were there, just below the surface. Leo forced himself to breathe easy, giving himself time to cool down and grateful for the darkness of the tunnels. They had been too impulsive, too careless—they’d almost gotten caught—and they weren’t out of the woods yet. Raph obviously sensed something was up.

“So what’s a… carb toner?” Leo asked, hoping to forestall any other questions from Raphael. It sounded like something to do with his brother’s body-building regime, like maximizing protein efficiency or something.

“Tuner,” Raphael corrected him. “It… tunes the carburetor.”

“Ah,” said Leo. "That makes sense."

They walked on for a time in silence, and finally Raph, walking between Don and Leo, halted. “Okay, just what the fuck is going on with you two?”

Leo winced at the wording. “It’s nothing, it’s—”

“Leo, just tell him,” Donatello interrupted, breaking his rather uncharacteristic silence.

Before Leo could even formulate a response to that, Don turned to Raphael. “We were having a bit of a… disagreement,” he explained, raising his palms in an apologetic gesture.

“That why you guys look all hot ‘n bothered?” Raph said with a glance between them.

Don nodded in confirmation.

Raph, though, still looked skeptical. “You guys don’t usually get this worked up,” he said, leaving the unspoken question hanging in the air. Just what the hell were you fighting about?

"Yeah, well, he's usually not so reckless!" Donatello made a slashing gesture towards Leo and spat, "Didn't anyone tell you that he almost died tonight?"

Raph's eyes widened. "No," he said quietly.

"Don," Leonardo tried to interject.

Don stuck a finger in Leo's face and spoke right over him. "All that time alone made you too bold, maybe. Some of us need you to be more careful! Some of us depend on it!"

Leo's jaw hung open. Raph's did too.

"No more stupid risks!" Don stabbed a finger towards Raph and fumed, "You're not allowed to act like him. Not anymore. PROMISE ME!"

Leo swallowed hard and replied, feeling numb, "I promise."

"Yeesh," Raph commented, waiting until after Don had turned and stalked back towards the lair. "Sounds like you scared the bejeezus outta him. Musta been pretty bad..." He glanced sidelong at Leo and made a face. "Uh. Do you need to... like..."

"Talk about it?" Leo suggested flatly. "No, not really."

Raph was openly relieved to hear it. The set of his shoulders relaxed nominally.

"He's Don. He'll come around." Leo briskly resumed the path that Raph had been traveling when he first ran into them. His brother fell into an easy stroll alongside him. "Danger has always been a part of our lives. I don't see that changing."

Raphael hooked his thumbs through the sai loops on his belt and agreed, "Ain't that the truth."

 

* * *

 

 

Donatello slid back inside the bare instant that the door opened wide enough to allow his shell to clear, and stomped across the floor still fuming. It was remarkable enough -- and convincing enough -- that Michelangelo paused his video game to watch him go past. "Donnie?" he called after his brother.

Don snarled something unintelligible and kept going.

He was afraid to stop long enough for anything else. Mike could be damnably perceptive when he wanted to be, and the last thing Don needed was to have those sharp blue eyes aimed at him, looking for cracks in the facade. Not that it was really much of a facade at all; Don was surprised at how easily he'd summoned up enough anger at Leonardo to come up with a cover story for what Raphael had almost seen. Of course, there's some repressed sexual tension to add some extra urgency to the whole thing, he reflected; it took that to finally make me a decent liar!

He made it to the safety of his room, closed the door without turning on the light, and sagged against the wall. That was probably a mistake -- it reminded him of the last time his shell had been scraped against rough brick, but this time he felt empty and cold. Don forced himself to breathe deeply, and added the feeling to the internal list he kept of all the reasons that he should put a stop to this...experiment...that he and Leonardo had started.

"Donnie?" Mike's voice floated through the door, concerned. "Hey, can I come in?"

Don banged his head against the brick wall, gently. When had he ever not allowed his brothers entry to his room at any time? After a minute, he got himself under control enough to call back: "Of course."

The door creaked open. "You okay? I mean...was it bad? A Leo-lecture can be kinda hard to take sometimes, I know, but you weren't gone long enough for him to really get into full 'I-expect-better-of-you' mode. Or maybe he uses something different on you?"

Don bit back an involuntary bark of laughter. "Yes. Yes, Mike -- something different." He pushed himself off the wall and headed for his desk chair, thought better of it, and pivoted to drop heavily onto his bed.

Mike followed and perched on the edge of the mattress. "So what was he mad about? He didn't say anything to me or to Raph about tonight, and I didn't see anything you did that he needed to be fussy about. Did I miss something?"

If only you knew, Don thought. He tried not to let the guilt show on his face. Aloud he said, "It was the other way around this time. I saw him do something reckless, and I couldn't let it go. We had to...discuss it."

"No way!" Mike's eyes lit up. "You had to lecture Fearless Leader?"

"He does get the occasional lecture, Mike," Don said drily, forcing himself to relax into the partial lie he was weaving for all of his brothers.

"Yeah, but from Master Splinter, and sometimes from Raph, though those probably don't count since they're mostly incoherent. Never from you!"

"He was unusually stupid tonight," Don squirmed to get more comfortable. As was I. "It required an unusual response."

"Yeah? I must have missed it. Just how stupid was he?" Mike's eyes grew larger, beginning to brim with curiosity.

Donatello had seen this look many times before and recognized it immediately. Soon his brother would become hyperactive, insufferable, and relentless in his burning desire to learn what had transpired. He said nothing and tried his best to look unimpressed and faintly annoyed, though in truth his stomach clenched and twisted violently. "I'm not going to stand around bashing Leo just because we had one disagreement, if that's what you're asking,"

Mike continued his interrogation, brightly unaware of Don's reticence to speak-- or perhaps just undaunted by it. "Whoa! Nobody said bash. But unusual and stupid aren't words that you would normally pick to describe our Fearless, are they? Especially now that he's back and things are finally getting somewhat normal, the two of you have been like besties."

Donatello's stomach became a hard knot. He felt himself lurch several degrees in reaction and had to clamp down hard with every ounce of his willpower to keep his dismay from showing on his face.

Luckily, Mike was barely paying attention to his surroundings. He was pacing the room now, going over the known facts in his mind with full-blown courtroom drama.

"Fine. Don't talk. But, you know what else is unusual? You and I mostly roll with it when Leo's calling the shots. Raph's usually the only one who dares to have, whatchacall'um, disagreements with Leo."

Donatello felt a stab of some new emotion at these words and latched on desperately, letting himself grow indignant. He was grateful to feel anything besides that gut-wrenching spread of panic. "That's not true at all," he snapped. The words that fell from his mouth were sharper than he intended, but even after he noticed Don couldn't seem to soften the edge in his voice. "Leo and I disagree plenty, okay? A lot more often than any of you might realize. Unlike Raph, I only challenge him when I think it's important -- and I do it in private whenever I can. Truth is, I'd rather have disagreements with Leo than any of you. He doesn't play dumb or try to derail you with humor. He doesn't break the furniture or try to stab you in the eye." Don was struck with the awful suspicion that he might be shouting. This was heading south pretty quickly. "We sit down and we have completely civil conversations, even when we're furious! It's kind of amazing!" His hands flew in a frustrated gesture as his rant finally wound down.

"Wow," Mike said after an embarrassing pause. "You're more ticked than I thought. And it's LEO you're ticked at, right?"

Don stared at the ground. "I'm not ticked at anyone."

"'Course not," Mike continued to prod. "Especially not me."

"Right." Donatello didn't look up but gave a weary smile. "I promise."

"Kay." Mike was appeased. He scratched the back of his neck idly and decided, "So, I guess you need some space. I'll go see what Raph is up to."

"He left."

Mike dropped his hands to his sides in surprise. "He left?"

"With Leo."

"With Leo?"

"They went to borrow tools from Casey."

"From Casey?"

"Will you stop repeating everything I say?"

Mike scoffed and turned to exit the bedroom, muttering, "Pfff, repeating everything you say..."

Don rolled his eyes and flopped backwards onto the bed as Mike left, closing the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

Leonardo wasn't sure of the precise moment their carb tuner mission got derailed. He hadn't been keeping track -- after all, it wasn't his mission. Somehow he, Raph, Casey Jones, and what remained of Casey's twelve-pack wound up relocating down the rusty fire escape, and back up the one attached to a neighboring building. They didn't stop until reaching the flat expanse of roof at the top, where someone had installed a battered basketball hoop. They played a cutthroat game of 21, which were slightly modified to include severe penalties for letting the ball hit the ground below. Leo won, though just by the skin of his teeth. They made him work for it, which course made the win even sweeter. The physical exertion was both relaxing and rejuvenating, providing exactly the release he supposed he had needed. I am a basketball God, he told himself serenely before sinking his last free throw.

Now Leonardo was pulling back the tab on his third beer, aglow with victory and aching pleasantly from several new bruises when it finally occurred to him that at least two hours had passed. No one had mentioned the carb tuner.

Unable to contribute much to the current conversation, Leo settled onto the couch and thoroughly enjoyed pretending to be interested. Mostly he passed the time admiring Casey Jones, who was drenched in sweat and speaking with lusty enthusiasm about an auto show he had recently attended. Leo was very cautious about this, still smiling in the right places and keeping them going with occasional questions.

"Fast is great, but which one handles better?" he mused aloud, for no other purpose than to spark a heated debate between them. He was fiendishly delighted by how easy it was to pull the strings of their conversation, regardless of how little he knew or cared about cars.

It was so good to leave behind the phantoms of their recent battle, not to mention the troubles and tangled emotions surrounding Donatello. Raph and Casey chattered on, wholly oblivious to his plights, and it was like breathing in fresh air.

For once, he felt no urge to check the the time obsessively or worry about their volume. Maybe he should have, because the floor immediately above them began to creak. Eventually a sleep-rumpled April appeared at the top of the stairs and gave Casey a look that was fondly wry.

"Sorry, babe. I know you got that thing tomorrow." He looked at Raph and Leo with apology.

Both turtles stood up, recognizing that their visit had come to an end.

April reacted at the sight of him. "Leo? I didn't realize you were here." She came down the steps to look at him in surprise, which was fair. He remained something of a recluse since his return to New York City. Something in her greeting made him think she'd have come down and joined them if she'd known. The thought was touching, though it would have been a very different night if she had been present. He returned her shy wave and vowed to come back sometime and pay her a visit.

Belatedly Leo registered that his other hand he was still holding his fourth beer. Awkwardly, he set it down on the nearest end table. Then he realized how rude that was and snatched it up again. He glanced around helplessly for a trash can. Surely they had one, somewhere, but it was nowhere in sight. At a loss, he set it down again.

April looked amused, lifting a slender brow. "Hmm. I wonder if you boys are sober enough to go catapulting between rooftops the whole way home?" she inquired sweetly.

"No, ma'am," Raph mumbled, flashing her a grin as he put on his fedora. "Sewers all the way."

They were almost out the window when Leo dragged on Raphael's arm and gave him a pointed look.

The other turtle blinked stupidly for a beat, then blurted, "Right!" and finally asked to borrow Casey's carb tuner.

Leonardo looked over Raphael's shoulder at the device as they made their way down the alley to the nearest manhole cover they could use. The carb tuner wasn't very impressive to look at. "So what, exactly, does that do?"

"It makes sure that all the cylinders are firing at the right time," Raphael said slowly, like it had never occurred to him to put it into words before. "It makes sure that the carburetor gets the right mix of gas and air, at the right time, in the right order, so the bike runs smooth." He made some gesture to go with the word smooth, then stopped, looking like he wasn't sure he should've done that.

"Oh. So do you have to...tune...the carburetor very often?" Leo couldn't let the conversation end on that note, not when they'd been so relaxed and even friendly just minutes earlier.

"It feels like I have to do it every damn week!" Raphael rolled his eyes. "I should ask Don to make me one of these, so I don't have to borrow Casey's alla time, but I just haven't...well...it wasn't like he woulda done it for me last year."

"Hmm." During the extra year that Leo was gone, was the clear subtext. Leonardo still hadn't heard the end of all the things that hadn't been right during his absence, though he thought they were making progress toward healing all of those wounds, and not just the ones that directly touched on him. "Maybe he'd do that for you now?"

"Maybe," Raph grunted, and fell silent for a bit.

But it was a comfortable silence, and so Leo didn't try to fill it. He followed along behind his brother, trying to enjoy the moment and not think about the assorted responsibilities waiting for him at home. So this is what 'weekends' must feel like, he thought musingly; no wonder humans like them so much. He rubbed his shoulder again, absently.

Raphael noticed it out of the corner of his eye. "That what set Donnie off earlier?" he said abruptly.

"This? No. No, he saw...thought he saw...me doing something else," Leo woke up to the danger and sorted through his memories of earlier that night quickly. "He thought he saw me taking unnecessary chances."

"Did you?"

He studied what he could see of Raphael, but couldn't read anything in the set of his shoulders and the bare sliver of skin that was visible under the fedora. "I didn't think so," he said slowly.

"Don's got some pretty strict ideas about situations he thinks are too risky," Raph said, and Leo didn't need to look over to know that he was scowling. "Maybe it's just a left-over habit. Tell him we don't have to be so careful now that the team is back together."

The implied trust in Raph's words was flattering, but Leo wasn't buying it. "Maybe he was in the right this time. Maybe I'm the one with bad habits. I can't afford to act like I was the whole time I was on my own -- not with the team depending on me."

"Bullshit. We're ninja crime fighters, Leo. Risky and awesome are both in the job description!"

"In what newspaper?"

"An awesome one," Raph insisted.

Leo started to grin, but it was swallowed up by the shadow that crossed his face. "Tonight... wasn't awesome."

"Says you. Mike and I were mopping the floor with minions. Did you MISS me chaining those dudes together with one throw?"

In the ugly chaos that had followed, Leo had nearly forgotten. Now he did smile and confess, "All right. Your crowd control tactics with the manriki were slightly awesome."

"Fucking tether-balled in the FACE," he embellished, making a tough-guy fist without breaking stride.

Leo barked a laugh.

They fell into a comfortable banter which only became easier as they strayed from the topic of the half-botched battle. He was surprised at how much longer the journey to Casey's house had seemed compared to the trek home.

In retrospect, he probably should have spent at least some portion of the trip planning what to say to Donatello. Instead they were laughing and bickering about basketball teams when they returned to the lair, heading straight for the garage and exhibiting little to no stealth. Leonardo was half way through a carb tuner demonstration, listening to Raph wax poetic about jets and throttle and only half-following, when Donatello appeared in the mouth of the door.

"You two must have taken the scenic route," he observed mildly.

"Palm trees and waterfalls the whole way," Raphael agreed. He tapped his fingers on the project bike thoughtfully. "Or was that hookers and blow?"

Leo flashed Raph a look of distaste at being included in this insinuation. The look was noticed and cataloged by Donatello, and it seemed to sate whatever interest he'd had in what they were up to. "I'm not trying to give anyone a hard time. Just wanted to know you both made it home," he muttered, turning to leave.

"Yep. Looked both ways crossing streets and everything." Raph had already turned back to the motorcycle he was working on. "So, like I was saying. You gotta check all these valves here and make sure there aren't any cracks in the boot. Like right here, I'm thinking we gotta replace this..." He pointed to the damaged rubber and looked over at Leo.

Leo was looking at the door.

After a moment, he ducked his head in apology and looked where Raph was pointing. "Boot cracks, right."

"Go." Raph shooed him with a vague wave. "Work it out with him, before it makes you crazy."

Leonardo looked at him gratefully. "Thanks, Raph. You're really in for the night, right? No running out to get motorcycle parts, or -- "

"Geez, Leo, stop with the mother-hen routine! Yeah, yeah, I'm in for the night, okay?"

"No, I just," Leo paused, took a breath, and started over. "If you do go out for parts, would you let me know? I'd like to go with you."

"Really?" Surprise made Raph's face look vulnerable. "Okay, I'll do that."

"Thanks," Leonardo left, then, before things could turn awkward in the wake of his sudden realization that he really did want to know at least a little bit more about what occupied so much of Raphael's time and energy.

"You supervising motorcycle repair now?" Mike asked when Leo stepped back into the main room of the Lair. He didn't look up from the battered sketch book in front of him, though he did fish the remote out of the couch cushions and aim it at the television. The volume of the movie went down noticeably before Mike tossed it back into the couch and took up another pencil.

"I'm hardly qualified to supervise, since I have no idea what's going on," Leonardo murmured, looking around. "Did Don come back this way?"

"No. Dunno. Maybe?" Mike glanced up, briefly, before focusing again on his sketchpad. "I wasn't looking. Maybe he did the whole 'ninja' thing, and got by me?"

"What are you doing?" Curious, Leo wandered over to look over his brother's shoulder at the sketchpad. "Nightwatcher? You're drawing a Nightwatcher...comic book?" The page, divided into comic book-style panels, was almost filled with a scene of the vigilante fighting off hordes of roughly-drawn thugs. Leo couldn't help but notice that, if the thugs were accurately scaled, then the Nightwatcher was drawn to be at least two feet taller than Raphael actually was.

"Maybe," Mike pulled the sketchbook a little closer to his plastron. "It could be a hit! I mean, think about it -- a nameless masked man, fighting against the forces of evil, fading away into the darkness and never letting anyone get close to him! It's got best-seller written all over it! We could be rich!"

"Sounds too unbelievable, even for comics," Leo disagreed. "Besides -- doesn't it seem strange? That's not just some 'nameless masked man', that's our brother. Isn't that weird, thinking of him as a comic book character?"

"No! It sounds awesome!" Mike's eyes lit up. "It's like he's suddenly become immortal!"

Leo looked doubtfully at Mike. "Immortal?"

"Yeah -- it's like this," and Mike actually put the sketchbook aside and twisted around on the couch so he could look Leonardo in the eye as he spoke. "There are a few people in stories who are so amazing, they get known all around the world. Other people, ordinary people, end up loving their stories so much that they memorize the stories, make up new ones, and pass these stories on. It used to be people like King Arthur, and Cleopatra, and really amazing people like that. But since the comic book got invented, it's super heroes, too! Think about it -- you can go anywhere in the world, anywhere, and find kids who know who Spiderman is. And those kids have parents and grandparents who know, too! Those kids'll grow up and their kids'll know who Spiderman is. It's like being immortal, to have so many people from all over the world, for generations, know who you are and know stories about you. And that would be so cool, if it could happen to Raph!"

Leonardo blinked. "So... you want people all around the world to know about Raph?" he worked it out. "And...what about the whole 'ninja' thing, where we stick to the shadows? And the whole 'mutant' thing, where we don't want to end up in a lab, or a zoo?"

"Pfff, like there's a zoo that could hold the Nightwatcher," Mike waved this off and picked up his sketchbook. "Besides, he's got a secret identity and all, right? He'd be okay, and if he needed to, he could hide in his secret subterranean lair..." He plucked another pencil up and bent over the page, mumbling refinements of the story to himself.

Leonardo wandered off while his brother was distracted, smiling to himself at the thought of Raph seeing his own image on a comic book cover. The computer alcove was mostly dark -- since Leonardo's return home, Donatello had cut back on his hours at work, and seemed to spend a little less time bent over his keyboards in his free time, so the only lights in the alcove at the moment were the security monitors that were never turned off.

Following a hunch, Leo crept upstairs as quietly as he could, and eased open Donatello's bedroom door. "Donnie?"

The bed was empty.

He came further into the room and looked around. Leonardo's gaze was drawn to the incandescent glow of a sturdy old desk lamp, the room's only source of light. Cheap black pens were scattered haphazardly around a blank pad of paper, but he wasn't seated at the writing desk. No one occupied the comfortable micro-suede chair where he sometimes liked to curl up with his books, most of which lived on cleverly welded scrap metal shelving along the room's western wall.

His gaze zagged through the darker corners of the half-lit bedroom and determined it was empty. He was not in the garage, obviously. Not in the common area, the kitchen, nor the computer alcove which he'd glanced over before heading upstairs. Don, where are you?

He stood there a moment, wracking his brain for everywhere else Don might be found at such a late hour. Where would he go if he couldn't sleep at the close of a troubling day?

Surely not Splinter's room. The thought ran him through with a dull jolt of dread. No. Surely not that.

Leonardo took command of his breathing and stamped out his initial reaction. There was no reason to panic yet. He could think of one other place Donatello might go. He left swiftly, with such decisive motion that the trailing ends of his blue bandanna snapped in the air behind him. Moving silently had long since become second nature. He shot out of Don's room and crossed the upper balcony without making another sound.

The upper levels were mostly unlit except for the area around the stairwell. Only when he'd reached the mouth of the passage leading to his own room could Leonardo see that he had been right not to worry. Donatello had not gone into his room yet, but was standing just outside it.

Leonardo's steps quickened now and warmth flooded his chest with every forward step. At first he presumed that Don waited outside because he was too polite to enter without permission. Maybe the show we put on for Raphael has shaken his confidence - what little there is of it. Or maybe--but that wasn't it. Don didn't look up at the other turtle's approach. He didn't move towards him.

It took Leo another several steps before the truth occurred to him. Donatello still didn't know he was there.

Donatello was perceptive, naturally. It could be argued that Donatello was more perceptive than any of them, but only when he put his mind to it. That perception rarely extended past the field of his current focus. By unanimous and unspoken agreement, the team always stepped up to compensate for this minor character flaw, which was always obvious during critical moments. Situations involving armed pyrotechnics, enemy security systems, or that time he and April had to disable a room full of hungry mousers sprung to mind.

Right now, Don wasn't focused on waiting for Leo. All of his attention was aimed at his feet. Leonardo couldn't see what held his attention from here. There was no way to get an accurate read on him from this angle, which offered nothing but the back of his head, muscular calves, habitually slumped shoulders, and the biometric whorls of familiar green-black shell scutes.

Leo coughed politely, hoping to spare him the embarrassment of being startled at such close range. Don jumped half an inch anyway, and hastily retrieved something that had been slipped under the sliding paper doors. It was a thick white bank envelope. His clumsy dive to conceal it did nothing so much as ensure that the exact size, shape, color of it was burned into Leonardo's retinas. Don crumpled it in one large fist behind his back as he turned to greet Leo's approach.

"What was that?" Leonardo approached steadily, wary now, but trying to keep a light tone. "Am I getting mail down here now?" It was a weak attempt at a joke -- all of their mail went to April's place or to one of a handful of addresses that were so remote and poorly-lit that they could safely access what little they could afford to have shipped to them.

"Well, it, um...I mean..." Don fumbled. He took a deep breath. "Never mind. We'll just have to talk about it later." He made a motion to sidle past his brother, the envelope still hidden behind his back.

Alarm bells went off in Leo's head. He grabbed Don's elbow in one hand and slid open the door of his room with the other. "Why don't we talk about it now?" he said in a voice that made it somewhat more than a suggestion, and towed his brother into the room.

Don didn't physically resist, though he did protest. "This probably isn't the best time to have this discussion. It's late, and there are so many aspects to be discussed that we won't have time to cover all of the main issues before morning --"

"Don," Leonardo held up one hand. Don fell silent obediently. "Why don't you give me that letter?"

"But I just --! Oh, all right," Don brought the crushed envelope into view and regarded it with dismay.

Leo plucked it out of his unresisting hand, and pulled out the sheet of handwritten paper. Some kind of outline. His amber gaze skipped down the organized scrawl, boldface headings and numbered lists.

Key points from their last conversation. Reiterate previous agreements. Relevant examples.

Leo felt comfortable skipping most of the text. It's a rehash of what was already covered, after all.

 **IT COMES TO THIS** , Leo read, and thought: Now we're getting somewhere.

  1. **It’s not good for us as a team or a family**
  2. **It's not good for my blood pressure**
  3. **It's not good for my sanity.**
  4. **I hate telling lies, including lies of omission**
  5. **We almost got caught today.**
  6. **WE ALMOST GOT CAUGHT TODAY.**
  7. **Getting caught would be so BAD, for so many reasons, see above!**
  8. **I'm scared about permanently screwing up one or both of us**
  9. **It's not worth it. I'm sorry.**
  10. **The truth is I don't even identify as gay.**



 

Leonardo wasn't quite prepared for those last two, which landed like a double sucker-punch. He reeled and turned towards Donatello.

The other turtle's spooked hazel eyes were trained steadily on Leo.

"Don? Are you breaking up with me?" he finally asked with a weak laugh that failed to sound casual or funny.

Don looked down and made a face, unsettled by the word choice. His gaze drifted to the letter and flicked over it wistfully, re-interpreting what he had been trying to say. "I guess," he agreed quietly. "You're proving my point, though, with your phrasing. 'Breaking up?' How is that relevant to us? Why should it be?"

"'It's not worth it'?" Leo quoted. He took a step closer to his brother.

Don flushed and looked away. "I didn't mean...well, I meant that the endorphin rush isn't worth the, the-” He had to fling several meaningless gestures at the wall before he could get the rest of that sentence out. “The downsides of getting caught, that's all! It's not a reflection on you."

"'I don't even identify as gay'?" Leonardo took another step closer, and now he could actually feel the warmth of Don's skin, bare inches away from his own. "That's...interesting. I don't think of you -- or me -- as gay, either."

"But what we're doing is most certainly..." Don trailed off. His gaze focused on Leonardo at last, taking in his proximity. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Me? I'm just standing here," and he was most certainly doing something more, but he wasn't entirely sure what or how. All he knew for sure was that he could see the moment that Don's pupils blew wide open, leaving only a thin rim of hazel around the black, and it was an enormous distraction from the sucker-punched feeling he'd gotten by reading Don's list.

"You're -- messing with my head," the other turtle accused. He took control of his breathing -- or tried to, with moderate success. "Getting in close on purpose. Trying to… to make my mouth water."

Leo watched Don's adam's apple bob with an involuntary swallow. "If that's what you say I'm doing,” he pointed out softly, “then it must be working."

"But the point--" Don began.

Leo cut him off firmly. "But nothing." He got in real close -- close enough that it was impossible not to think about kissing him. He hoped Don was thinking about it too. "Don't you dare talk like you have been -- victimized. Like it wasn't a choice we made. Like we didn't both want to. When just last week--"

"Last week," Donatello choked. "Was an anomaly."

"Last week,” Leo leaned in and purred. He was careful not to let his words carry beyond the heated air that hung between them. "When you begged for me. When you tried to beg for me, but couldn't even get the words out. God, Leo! Please let me! You didn't get to finish asking. By then, it was already happening. You remember it differently?"

"Ah. You have been drinking." Whatever spell-weaving Don had accused of him had apparently been broken. He worked harder to extricate himself from Leo's grasp. "I'm sorry. We're not having this conversation tonight."

"Why not?" Leonardo clenched his hands into fists to keep from grabbing him as he moved away. Cold air rolled across his skin, where it had been so warm only a second earlier. "Why not do it now, and get it over with? You've always been a big believer in ripping the bandages off quickly, instead of drawing the pain out. This won't be any easier tomorrow."

Don stopped short, just a step away from the closed door. His hands were clenched into fists, too, as he said over his shoulder, "Then consider this bandage ripped off, Leo. We're done with this. We won't be talking about it again." His voice was too harsh, too much like Raph's in that moment. Don slid the door open and fled -- yes, fled! -- without closing it behind him.

It took Leonardo a moment to realize that the voice and the flight were both desperate attempts by Donatello to cover up how much he was shaking.

 

* * *

 

Don darted into his own room and slid the door shut. For the first time in his life, he wondered why he'd never bothered to put a lock on his bedroom door. Not that it would do any good, but the psychological boost would be much appreciated right now! he thought.

His eyes fell on the paper and pens he'd left strewn over his desk. The main problem with living in a house full of ninjas was that it was always necessary to be aware of how little privacy they really had, and how much others could discern from the smallest of clues, and Don was all too cognizant of the need to make sure there were no clues left as to the discussion he and Leonardo had just had. Not to mention the subject matter itself! Quickly, he scanned his desk and its immediate area for anything that might be visible to a snooping, keen-eyed brother.

The pad of paper he'd been writing on -- it wasn't likely that anyone else would be curious about the impressions he'd left in the paper by writing on the now-missing sheet, but he'd seen too many movies that hinged on exactly that type of improbability, and didn't think it was worth the risk. He ripped ten sheets of paper off the pad and crumpled them into uselessness. Burn them, too, just in case, he decided.

Don thought of the original letter, the one he'd left in Leo's hands, and wondered if he could go ask for it back. He quailed at the thought of facing his brother again just yet, however. He's smart. He'll know to get rid of it. Yes. Of course he will. Bearing that thought firmly in mind, he headed out for the only safe place he knew to set fire to a wad of paper without attracting attention: the garage.

He was so caught up in his own misgivings that he almost didn't turn back in time. He'd been hearing the noise for awhile, but was almost to the door when his brain finally registered the sound he was hearing was a motorcycle engine, revving in a particular pattern.

Raphael was still in there working on his new project bike. The warm scene Don had glimpsed had been the real deal, after all. Raph didn't need to make up reasons to be hanging out alone with Leo in order to cover up the real reasons. He was genuinely devoted to tuning up a carburetor at two-thirty in the morning.

Donatello crushed the papers in his fist and walked back in the other direction.

There had to be another way to destroy the evidence. His gaze cast around the room speculatively until he veered towards the kitchen. Digging around in one of the kitchen drawers, he found a lighter and carried it with him out the front door and into the untamed sewer tunnels leading away from their home.

He walked until he came to the nearest reservoir. Burning the empty pages had become something ceremonial by this point -- something that had to be done. His large hands flicked the tiny lighter with difficulty. Donatello was much more familiar with wielding fire in the form of blow torches and Bunsen burners. Even a book of matches would have been easier than this impossible child-proof wheel and button contraption, he was certain.

After fiddling with it some more, he finally decided it was broken and threw the lighter out in front of him. It dropped into the none-too-sanitary waters without a splash. Then he blew out a frustrated huff of air and tossed the wadded papers in after it. They separated in mid-air and scattered somewhat before sinking into the foul skin of the reservoir.

Ceremony didn't matter. What was he expecting, closure? No one would be trying any clever pencil tricks on them now. That was the most important thing, right?

Donatello breathed the fetid air and stood watching until the pages disappeared completely.

 

* * *

 

Leonardo knew he had a great deal of patience. He'd worked for years to develop it, hone it like a physical trait, and use it as effectively as any weapon. But he'd never been so aware of it for such a length of time, until that long week when Donatello froze him out.

Oh, it wasn't as obvious as it could have been. Don went on speaking to him as necessary for practice, for meals, for family time, for patrols. It was his eyes that weren't the same. If Don were forced to speak to Leo, his eyes went vague and distant. He looked through Leo, rather than at him.

Leonardo also knew that Don had a great deal of guile. His brother had worked for years to develop that, too, like a proper ninja, and he was capable of using it when he needed it. But it had never seemed so obvious to Leo as it was during that week, when Don was literally never available to have a private conversation. Whenever Leo went looking for him, Don was deeply engrossed in something else -- his job, Raph's motorcycle, a game with Mike, a discussion of archeology with April. It all looked perfectly natural, like it was just Donatello being absorbed in his own work and hobbies as he always was.

Leo would have admired the skilled application of all that guile, if it hadn't been used against him.

 

* * *

 

 

Donatello was keenly aware that his distance and outward show of indifference was causing Leo some amount of pain. His resolve held stolidly, if not solidly, for he was often wrecked with sympathy and self-destructive doubt.

He tried his best to go about his usual routine. Don kept a pulse on the rest of the family and spent his free hours blowing through one lair upgrade idea after the next. Even the grunt work, furniture repair and tile grouting. No job was beneath him.

Nobody else seemed to think Leo was acting odd. They weren't making weird eyes at him, either. Everybody had their own stuff going on.

Mike found some games that Splinter could actually play, mostly thanks to the Wii Nunchuck controllers Don had lovingly refurbished. He'd never been any good when it came to "pressing little buttons", but motion-based games were apparently another matter. The last time he'd peeked in on them, their sensei had been creaming Mike at simulated bowling.

Raph was itching for action more than every other night, but it was not the cause of worry and drama that it used to be. The big difference, of course, was that he was on good enough terms with Leo lately that requests to come along were no longer brushed off as "lame attempts at babysitting".

Donatello had no comment on how much time they spent together. No comment whatsoever.

Over the week, though, he found himself catching a change in Leo's expressions. The thoughtful, quasi-distant expression (with just a tiny hint of 'look at me, damn it!', if you knew what to look for) began to look a little more...firm. Less pleading, more irritated. But these were just micro-expressions, split-second interpretations of emotion, and he shook them off.

It was easy to do, when Leo seemed to give up and allow himself to be drawn back into the usual routines of family life. His expeditions with Raphael were only one thing -- there were other demands on his time, like corralling his brothers for a rare night off and out.

Don begged off, still not fully convinced that he needed to be around his brother. "It's fine. I might as well stay here," he said, waving goodbye to his family as they shuffled towards the garage.

"It's Drive-In Movie Night, Donnie!" Mike whined, hanging back and making fake shiny eyes at him. "And I made all this popcorn."

"I saw. And I'm trusting you not to leave it lying all over the floor of the van."

"He'll pick up and eat whatever he drops," Raph smirked. "And whatever I throw at him."

"I thought you wanted to see this," Leo pointed out, leaning on the frame of the door. His voice was completely neutral.

"I can download it any time," Don refused without looking up. It wasn't the first time he found something else to do, and it probably wouldn't be the last. "I've already prepped all this wood glue."

They gave up and left without him.

Business as usual, all right.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Staring up at the black canvas of his unlit ceiling late that night, Donatello tucked his tail against the back of his legs and worked his erection into the tight space created by his clenched thighs. He huffed and grunted and struggled feverishly for an orgasm. He'd given up on the Victoria's Secret catalog (the closest thing to porn he had on hand without booting up computers), and tossed it across the room violently enough to make the pages flutter.

Maybe that had been a mistake. His normally capable imagination was having a hard time coming up something -- anything -- to rival his lurid and all-too-recent memories of Leo.

 

* * *

 

 

Enough is enough, Don finally decided at the end of an ultra-productive weekend. He peeled off a pair of work gloves and glanced around the common room, which was practically sparkling. He's given me the space I said I needed. And the last thing I want is to punish him. Soon, we'll have to sit down and talk about it.

Enough wasn't soon enough.

"I need to speak with you," Leo strolled up and demanded later that day, subtle as a rodeo. He did this right in front of Mike and Raph, so there was no chance of escape.

"Is there trouble?" Don asked, blinking mildly and stalling for time.

"Nothing like that," he said over one shoulder, gliding towards the stairs and utterly confident that Don would join him. "In private, if that's okay with you."

"Sure... of course," Don agreed. He flushed and exchanged a dishonest little shrug of confusion with Michelangelo's undisguised curiosity before getting to his feet and following Leonardo up the stairs. He tried to put an eager-to-help bounce in his step that only made him look more skittish.

The vague half smile disappeared as soon as Mike and Raph could no longer see his face. "Where did you want--"

"My room," Leo said.

"Um," Donatello croaked uncertainly. " 'Kay."

Layers of pretense were curling away from them with every step towards privacy. Leo glanced back only once and their eyes met for less than a second, but it was enough. Don was startled to deduce that his brother was genuinely angry.

"Look," he began lamely, his whole face flushing a deeper shade of military green. "I know my behavior towards you must seem cruel--"

"Shut up," Leo cut him off sharply. "You said you wanted to be careful? These stairs are not exactly private."

Donatello shut up. The rest of the hike up the stairs passed in excruciating silence.

"So," he said finally said with an awkward cough when they were finally alone together. He had pictured the two of them alone countless times since they had stopped speaking, but it had never gone like this. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Yes," Leonardo agreed quietly. "Let's talk about this." He moved over to a wax-spattered dresser and picked up a folded piece of paper.

Donatello recognized The Letter immediately. His eyes bugged with dismay at the sight of it. "I can't believe -- y-you actually kept it!" he sputtered. "I thought you'd have the good sense to get rid of it!"

"I wanted to burn it," Leo mused coolly, turning it over in his hands. "Thought about it. Couldn't." He faced Don squarely, his gaze unflinching and fearless. "Couldn't figure out what was bugging me so much about it. It's not because I'm feeling lovelorn, that's for sure." His gaze narrowed. "I'm not wallowing over every sad song on the radio or composing romantic haiku. Contrary to whatever crazy theories you've come up with."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Donatello piped up, his mouth twisting up at one side. "Who says I have crazy theories!"

"You do. And THAT'S what's been bugging me," Leo insisted fiercely. "I've been meditating on this god-damned list of yours for most of the day and I've finally figured it out. Of course I assumed this list of yours was inspired by theories. Really bad theories, here and there, but it's what I wanted to believe."

"Of course they're theories!" Donatello put his hands up in appeal. "What else would it be, Leo? Look, if any of my wording--"

"DO NOT LIE TO ME," Leo raged, speaking over him.

"--offended you? Uhm... wow." Don palmed the back of his head in total dismay.

"I know you, Don." The paper rustled as Leo snapped it towards the other turtle for emphasis. "You don't make bald-faced assumptions like this until you've got some cold hard facts to back it up. So let's hear it. Where's the evidence?"

Donatello stared at Leo for a long, baffled moment. Then he twitched and a jolt of understanding crossed his face. "Ahh."

Leo gave a dangerous nod. "Becoming clearer now?"

"This is about the last line. The insinuation that you--"

"Did we have some heart to heart that I forgot about?" Leo interrupted again, looming over him. "Do I speak with a fucking lisp?"

"No!" Don cried, making a face. "And even if you did, it would have NO bearing on whether--"

"WHERE IS THE EVIDENCE?"

"I can't believe THIS is what you want to talk about," Donatello scoffed, glancing aside.

"Answer the question!" Leo demanded. "Did you go through the files on my computer or what?"

"No! No, not -- not exactly! Leo, you're being ridiculous!"

"Not -- exactly?" the taller turtle was now speaking through tightly clenched teeth.

"Okay, this is not my fault. Some of the websites you were visiting were not exactly reputable! You pick up three viruses in one night, then, yeah! Of course I'm going to investigate where they're coming from! That's just--"

"An invasion of privacy!"

"I was going to say, basic network security!" Donatello's professional expertise on this topic lent him a boost of unexpected confidence and his chest huffed with fresh resolve. "I work very hard to keep us off the grid and well protected."

"Convenient," Leo sneered. "Using security as a pretext to spy -- that's a perfect cover for you, isn't it?"

"Pretext?" Donatello sputtered. "Are you serious? Do you honestly believe that I invent pretexts to spy on you?" Indignation made his voice rise in pitch and volume. "Yes, that's right, Leonardo, all of my time spent studying the latest viruses and the ways to block them is really just a way for me to keep tabs on everything you do online! Because of course there's no other reason I could possibly have for -- "

"Do not get sarcastic with me, Hamato Donatello!" and now Leo was actually close enough, and angry enough, to seem like a physical threat. The heat from his skin washed over Don. "You are the one who is drawing conclusions and making up theories using incorrect information -- "

"Woah, woah, woah!" Don broke in. "Hold on! Are you telling me...Leo, are you telling me that you're mad because of the 'gay' word?"

"Don't you dare!" Leo raged. "It's offensive -- how dare you try to label me like that?"

Don could only step back (slowly) and marvel at his brother's fury in silence for a long moment. When he spoke again, he was careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "You...are really upset that I might think you're gay?" he ventured.

"I'm not!"

"Okay. Okay, then I'm sorry I drew that conclusion," Don said carefully.

Leonardo blinked, frowned, and looked away.

The silence stretched. And stretched some more.

Donatello became aware of the tick-tocking of the nearby alarm clock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The steady klaxon beat into his brain and threatened his sanity. It was not quite antique, but ancient enough by the young engineer's standards -- and the modern world, for that matter. New enough to be housed in plastic, but inside it was entirely clockwork. Over the years it had been necessary for Don to hand-craft several replacement parts, just to keep the archaic little time piece running, but he had done so faithfully. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. It was a pain in the butt sometimes, but he knew the sound of it sometimes brought Leonardo comfort.

"You really have been meditating about this," Don realized aloud, breaking the silence without meaning to. He'd finally noticed that the clock had been moved from its usual place. Leo sometimes brought it nearer when he was struggling to clear his mind -- a rare event, to be sure, but Donatello considered himself adept at spotting even subtle patterns.

"Stop. Analyzing. Me." Leo growled, having followed his gaze.

"I wish I knew how," Don confessed with honest regret.

"I've been very careful about clearing my browser history."

"I know you have. My firewalls keep logs which you can't clear from your web browser. You have been more careful than any of us. Even me, which is kind of weird in itself."

"There's nothing else, is there?" Leo spoke through his teeth, trying to look fierce but mostly sounding pained. He was deeply embarrassed, now that the conversation was actually happening, and trying very hard to cover it up. The ideas that Don had about him ~ ! It was appalling. It was totally inappropriate. "What else made you think I was -- ?" he couldn't even bring himself to say the word.

"You seem to enjoy blowing me. But you are very straight-acting, if that's what you're worried about," Don admitted with more honesty than common sense. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew Leo wouldn't take it well.

He was right. Embarrassment turned instantly back into anger. "You will get the fuck out of here," Leo swore, now towering over Don in that Lawful Good Paladin way in which only Leonardo could loom. He had only ever witnessed this sort of looming from a strictly third-person perspective -- occasionally at Mikey, but most often with Raph. Donnie had not been directly subjected until now.

Some instinct in him urged obedience in the face of that command. It took some effort not to flee the room. Or drop and scurry under a piece of furniture, like a mouse.

This conversation was important, he realized in the midst of his panic. Leaving would be a terrible mistake, even if it seemed like the only way to get through the next five minutes without having his liver ripped out and handed to him by a furious ninja. He couldn't defend himself in the usual way. He couldn't defend himself at all!

It occurred to him, in a flash, that defense was exactly the wrong thing to be thinking about right now. "Sorry!" he gasped, throwing his arms around Leonardo. "I am sorry!" he kept insisting, even though he was sure it was a terrible hug, stiff-limbed and awkward. Regardless of whether or not Leonardo's sexuality seemed relevant to him, it obviously mattered to Leo. Somehow it mattered more than the dishonor of lying to one's family. It mattered more than the taboo of incest or the authenticity of a relationship based on sex instead of romance.

His mind flitted back to the earliest experiments, the rapid crossing of boundaries. It had progressed so quickly. Leo came up with their next pretense, with his impromptu lessons in stealth and stamina. Little more than a thinly veiled excuse to grope each other in the shadows, silent and desperate.

"I'm sorry," he said again, face pressed into Leo's neck. "I wasn't trying to upset you..."

Slowly, very slowly, Leonardo relaxed under this unorthodox assault. He had frozen when Donatello lunged at him, surprised in a way that rarely happened to him anymore, and it shook him. Not the most effective response to an attack, his warrior-trained mind jeered at him. But that little voice faded rather quickly, and he simply allowed himself to feel the warmth and weight of his brother's body pressed up against his.

And he liked it, in spite of all resolve to stay strong.

His arms came up, turning Donatello's clutch into an actual embrace. "I thought you were leaving," he said, willing his own grip not to tighten in protest of the idea.

A movement below his jawline told him Don was rejecting the idea, too. "Can't leave like this," he said, voice muffled in Leo's skin. His breath was hot. Leonardo tilted his head, giving freer access to his sensitive neck. "This is important," Don went on, apparently unaware of the invitation. "I don't want you to be mad at me..."

"I'm not mad," Leo said carefully. "Not anymore." He did let his arms tighten, then, pulling his brother closer. It was a good feeling. "You just...had a wrong idea, that's all."

"Yes," Don nodded. "I...yes. That's all." His tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

Of course, as close as they were, it was inevitable that it would graze along Leo's pulse.

Leonardo gasped, almost soundlessly.

Donatello's arms around Leo tightened. He felt himself lengthening and growled, "Leo..."

"I'm not trying," Leo shivered. His towering temper had vanished completely. "Not any more than you. It feels like I'm high when you let me get this close."

Don closed his eyes. "That's exactly what it feels like," he agreed softly, pressing their bodies close together.

"You don't want this," Leonardo felt honor-bound to remind him, for all that he could not bring himself to pull away.

"Leo. Leo, I miss you so much," Don insisted in a whisper.

"I miss you, too," Leo answered seriously, also whispering. The conversation suddenly required it. "Not just the sex, Donnie. I miss the little things, like hanging out at the breakfast table. Long talks about global events and politics. Looking each other in the eye."

"You think I don't?" Don groaned urgently, pushing the heels of both palms into Leonardo's shoulders. He rubbed his knee against Leonardo's muscular legs and gently nudged them apart. "God, Leo. I miss a lot of things."

Leo panted and allowed his stance to widen against his better judgement. The towers of his resolve were crumbling into a choppy and dangerous sea. Don's approach wasn't sudden or forceful, but his intent was pretty clear. He really wants to fuck me. He's going to drag me to the ground and mount me if I don't put a stop to this. Leonardo's heart beat faster as he gave serious thought to letting Don do whatever he pleased. Maybe Don's actions were speaking louder than hasty, scribbled words, and he could finally put the stupid letter out of his mind.

Maybe I am queer, Leonardo thought with equal palpitating beats of lust and terror. I want him to. I want him.

Don buried his face against Leo's neck and breathed in deep, purposefully, and exhaled with a shudder of pleasure. His eyes were dilated as they flashed up to meet his own.

Strong olive hands slid over his collar bones and fingers dragged on his neck. Leonardo dimly deduced that he probably smelled-felt-tasted better to Don when he was... when he was what? Turned on, afraid, or both?

He dragged himself away, forcefully peeling Don's hands off him and disengaging from the delicious full-body contact. "The door," Leo gasped, never venturing above a whisper. "We should lock it, at least." His hands fumbled for the latch. It seemed like small and flimsy protection. It was little more than a symbol of privacy. Anyone in his family could pull hard enough to snap it without breaking a sweat. He tugged it once to make sure it wouldn't budge without being forced, and the little latch did not disappoint him.

"Right. Good thinking." Don looked shaken and pale. Now that Leo had stepped out of reach, he seemed more aware of himself and their precarious situation.

Leo swallowed hard. He moved away from the door but stopped short of a full return to Don's embrace. "We don't have to," he insisted again. "We can still... you weren't completely wrong. Some of the things you said, I -- I've admired your strong will."

Don stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a rush. He slid his hands onto Leo with sinful and feverish caresses. "Haven't been strong," he whispered. "Every other night or so. I haven't been strong, thinking about you."

Donatello executed a take-down maneuver that was typical for him, in that it was swift and silent, engineered to subdue painlessly. Leo hit the tatami mats with a grunt of surprise. A clamor of excitement went through him as Don settled on top of him. He growled happily, biting and dragging his beak over the back of Leo's neck.

Stupid door. What was I thinking? Leo wondered dizzily, and not for the first time. Before he and Don started messing around, a door made of wood and rice paper had seemed like such a good idea.

Donatello didn't give him much warning, lining up and entering him with a grunt and a single shove. He was decisive and aggressive in a way that he could seldom be with Leo. At least, not when he had his wits about him.

It hurt. It almost always hurt. A couple times Leo had been the one to plan their rendezvous, and there had been opportunity to prepare himself with creative use of his hand-dipped candlesticks. But not this time. It had been awhile, and he'd had no idea... Leo bit down on his own hand to keep silent.

Donatello shuddered and went still. Having tuned into Leo's discomfort, he seemed to hold himself in check. He waited as Leonardo willed himself to relax. Still, it hurt - and it would keep hurting until his cloaca stretched enough to accommodate both of them.

"I'm sorry..." Don whispered into his carapace, starting to slide out of him.

"Plenty... time for that later," Leonardo muttered through his gritted teeth. He craned his long neck to look back at Don with a visible glint of challenge. "Follow through." It was an admonishment he had occasionally used on Don in the dojo, having caught him pulling kicks and punches when Leo had asked him not to.

Donatello's breath caught in his throat at the eye contact. He couldn't look away. He surged forward, settling more firmly in place. His strong hands gripped Leonardo's carapace, holding him down without any conscious thought.

Leonardo breathed deep, willing tight muscles both inside and out to relax. He could feel the moment when the tension started to fade, when the pain started to ease -- and Don could, too. Leonardo found himself pulled backwards and slightly up, legs falling out to the sides, when Don finally let go enough to give in to his own pleasure.

There was no stopping it now. Don couldn't withdraw even if he wanted to -- the hard nubs of flesh were starting to bloom and take anchor in the soft heat around them. Their shells clacked together.

"Yes, yes," Leo relaxed still further, letting himself be used. This was almost the best part of what they'd started, of what they did together -- this sense that Don's habitual reserve was crumbling under the strength of this intense need.

And then Don stretched forward, pushing himself in to his furthest extent. His teeth settled lightly on Leo's neck, just enough to hold him in place, but not enough to hurt. And the hardened nubs inside Leonardo locked into place as Don went completely, intently, profoundly still with the extreme force of his orgasm.

It went on for a while.

Leonardo could feel the moment when his brother peaked and began to come back down from the intense physical high. Don's arms quivered with the strain of being so tightly clenched, and then he gasped and let go of Leo's neck. He seemed to pull backwards into himself, both externally and internally. There was a softening and a sliding of the part of him that was inside his brother -- a feeling that was oddly erotic -- and then he was literally pulling back, falling off of Leo's shell and collapsing onto the tatami mat. He looked exhausted.

He looked incredibly appealing, too.

Leonardo crawled over to nuzzle his flushed face. Don shifted his head to return the affection, so that their beaks pressed together.

Don spoke very softly, "Here we are again." He sighed against the other turtle's skin.

Leo went still with hesitation. "Feeling sorry already?"

"No," Don admitted, shifting onto his stomach and setting his chin on folded arms. "Strangely... relieved."

Leo widened his eyes with mock surprise. "Relief, after that? You don't say."

"Not that kind of relief!" Don smirked at him, brown eyes twinkling. "I'm just... glad to give up. Shutting you out, it was lonely. Exhausting

Leonardo managed not to melt at this admission -- not even a little bit. "The twelve-hour days of obsessive handyman work may have helped," he observed wryly.

Don shook his head. "The work was nothing. I could have done it in my sleep."

"Great. Then, I have a simple solution." Leo slid on top of Donatello like liquid and used his weight to pin his shell to the floor. He leaned forward and whispered against the back of Don's neck, "Don't shut me out. Ever again."

"'Kay," Don closed his eyes and agreed. He stretched his own neck out, offering it silently.

Leonardo seized the soft flesh between his teeth. As soon as his bite was firm, his body slid backwards, almost without thought. He nudged Don's thighs apart, got into position, and entered him, all in the space of one breath.

Don sucked in a muffled protest. Leo didn't often mount him, and he definitely hadn't been prepped for it! But Leo tightened his bite and continued to work his way inside, moving slowly and with definite intent. Don's body was hot inside, and slick from his own pleasure moments earlier, and the lure of it was irresistible.

Deliberately, Don relaxed around the intrusion, opening himself up. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm okay, I -- oh!" His own flesh was still rawly sensitive, and the intense pressure of being invaded was wonderful, in ways that it normally wasn't, once he'd relaxed enough to feel it.

Leo felt the moment, and gave himself over to it. He pushed himself inside to his fullest length, settling into place and blooming there. His mouth, on Don's neck, turned possessive, even as his hands clenched at his brother's shell. He pushed his own weight down more firmly onto the curve beneath him.

This, this was the best thing! This was everything he'd ever wanted -- this feeling that he was inside and surrounding his brother, that they were so close together that they were almost one being; if he just tried a little bit harder he could absorb Don into himself and keep him safe and close always! It was a perfect moment, one of transcendental pleasure more intense than anything he'd dreamed of on the long solitary nights.

He hit his climax with an almost silent groan of protest that the moment had ended so soon.

When it was over, he slid onto the floor sideways and pulled Don close with arms that felt much too weak. His brother allowed the contact, settling against Leo's plastron with a sleepy hum. "Much better," he said quietly.

"You're telling me," Don murmured into his chest plates. "If this keeps up, maybe I'll be the one questioning..." His words drifted off, perhaps sensing the imminent danger in continuing this particular observation. "That was just... I don't usually expect..." After several failed attempts to rephrase, he wisely gave up. "God, it's like I'm botching a real life diplomacy check. Let's just say you rocked my world and leave it at that!"

Leo appreciated the praise but couldn't let the rest of it slide. "Diplomacy check? What is that, some kind of video game slang?"

Donatello gave a small cough. "Dungeons and Dragons slang, actually."

"I see. This is a nerd's idea of pillow talk. Very charming."

Donatello grinned in spite of himself. It was far more preferable to endure Leonardo's gentle teasing than analyze what had just transpired. "Oh yeah? Keep it up. Because, there's more where that came from. I will defrag you so hard..."

"Okay, that one ... that's computer-speak, yes? And it has nothing to do with the fact that Mike likes to scream 'Frag him!' at the TV when he's playing that zombie game?"

Don smiled. "...right." His voice was drowsy and his thoughts were obviously elsewhere.

"Don't go to sleep," Leo warned.

Muffling a groan, Don burrowed closer. "Why not? It's not like anyone would know what room I come out of in the morning -- you're always the first one awake!"

"True, but," Leonardo nuzzled the top of his head, reluctant to point out the obvious flaw in his brother's thinking and bring an end to the moment, "it's way too early. Mike and Raph will notice if you disappear this early in the evening."

Don muttered something that sounded like a completely uncharacteristic curse. "I'll start putting Benadryl in their soft drinks, I swear..."

It was remarkably difficult to untangle themselves and clamber to their feet. The loss of physical contact made them sheepish. "Well, um," Don rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor, "that was..."

"I'm glad we talked," Leo said quietly, also not making eye contact. "Let's not let things get that bad between us again."

"Deal," Don unlocked the bedroom door, slid it open, stepped out into the hallway, and froze.

"What're you guys doing?" Michelangelo asked brightly. "You've been in there for ages! Raph lost three games of Motor Storm and left to go ride a real bike to make himself feel better, and I'm getting bored. Are you doing something fun? Something I can be a part of? Or is it," he broke off and took a step back, his expression going exaggeratedly suspicious, "some kind of weird supah-secret ninja stuff you guys've been doing? 'cause I've already practiced enough, dudes, and I don't wanna do that anymore today!"

"We, uh," Don fumbled, lost in the rapid-fire of his brother's words and the swirl of terrors in his own head.

"Don was going over some physical therapy exercises with me," Leo lied smoothly. He swung his arm slowly out to one side until it was level with his shoulder. "He doesn't think I'm letting this rotator cuff injury heal properly."

"And it's not surprising, since you ignored everything I said about resting it," Don fired back, having recovered most of his equilibrium. He divided a baleful look between the two of them. "I'm sure I was very clear to you, Leonardo, that I can't fix it if you stress it into tearing. You'll have a permanent physical limitation -- "

"Wow," Mike broke in. "No wonder you guys needed to be alone. I can't decide if I'm more impressed to know that you do actually argue with each other, or that you don't put each other to sleep with it. C'mon! Where's the shouting, where's the throwing-things-across-the-room part of this fight? I can't eat popcorn to this!"

Don threw his hands up in the air. "Sorry we can't make your every moment exciting, Mikey." He sidled past his brother and stomped off to his room, muttering unintelligibly to himself.

Leo hid a smile. To his eyes, the exit was obvious fakery, a trick to divert Mike's attention long enough to make sure he didn't grow suspicious. Or obnoxious, which could be the same thing... But it worked well. Michelangelo stared after their departing brother with his mouth open.

"Wow, dude, he's really upset about your arm. He only gets that pissy when he's pretending he's not worried. Haven't you been following Doctor Don's orders?"

"Not always," Leo admitted, thinking of the past few weeks.

"Wrong! Always, always do what the doc tells you! Or he'll find out, and then," Mike shivered for dramatic effect, "whatever was wrong with you, he'll make it worse!"

Leo stepped closer, forcing Mike to step back, and then continued slowly down the hall.Predictably, his little brother fell into step with him. "So you beat Raph at Motor Storm?"

"Three times!" Mike's eyes lit up at the memory.

"Fantastic," Leo approved.

Mike slanted a grin at him. "Oh yeah? Since when do you find me playing video games fantastic?"

"I could care less about video games. But when somebody manages to take Raphael down a peg, that's always fantastic."

The grin widened. "Gotcha."

Halfway there, Leo figured out that he was leading Mike to the kitchen. Somehow he had worked up an appetite.

"I'm going to make a sandwich. Do you want one?"

"Nahh, your sandwiches are boring."

"My sandwiches are nutritious," Leo corrected.

Mike shrugged, "Eh. Same thing."

"Suit yourself," Leo said with a quiet laugh.

"Don't worry about me. I'll find something way more interesting."

Something more interesting turned out to be semi-sweet chocolate chips right out of the bag and whipped cream right out of the can.

"Mouth sundae!" he crooned, spraying a large dollop onto his tongue and then tilting his head backwards to sprinkle the pile of whipped cream with chocolate chips.

"That's revolting," Leo commented mildly, sparing him a brief glance.

Mike countered with some unintelligible praise for mouth sundaes before swallowing the whole mess in a single gulp.

"You have a mustache."

"That's okay. Mustaches are in right now." He checked out his reflection on the microwave door and artfully added more whipped cream to his face. His head swiveled from side to side, checking out his handiwork approvingly. "There. Now I've got some sweet chops."

"Sexy," Leo smirked.

"I know, right?" Mike set down the can of whipped cream in favor of shoveling chocolate chips into his mouth. "Are you and Don cool now?" he asked with a mouthful of chocolate.

Leo had to pause then for honest consideration. "I think so. I agreed to be more careful and he agreed to relax. Plus, I can tell there’s love beneath all of the things that he keeps worrying about…” He glanced Mikey quickly, wondering if he would be teased.

“Definitely!” The younger brother agreed with an easy lack of hesitation, like it should have been obvious all along.

“So… yeah.” It was safe, for the moment, to let a warm grin slide onto his face -- and a good thing, because Leo would have been helpless to stop it. Mike was still paying more attention to rooting around in that bag for more chocolate chips. Leonardo leaned his shell against the counter and let his gaze travel cracks in tiles without seeing them. “Pretty sure Donatello and I are going to be just fine."

 


End file.
